Illunia 21 - Edgewater

After their dire pronouncement, the dwarves rose to their feet. I hadn’t seen more than a handful of dwarves in my life and I spent a moment looking them over. Both were a little over four feet tall and had long braided beards hanging to their waists. Their hair was black but beginning to gray. One dwarf had a bald head and—from the emerging stubble—looked to be shaved. The other had a simple close-cropped haircut. Each wore the tattered remains of clothing hardly worthy of their name. The dwarves I had seen previously wore simple, functional clothing, with no frills outside a badge to indicate rank or profession. The bald man’s clothing had once been white, and he still had a badge with the dwarven symbol for Torc, with some sort of rank designation etched around it. The other man had no insignia. His clothing had once been a solid gray, but were now covered in blood. Goblin blood from the smell.

Daulf moved to help them up, “Sirs, you look wounded, are you in need of healing?”

The two dwarves stepped back from his approach. The bald dwarf saw the symbol of a Seeker, the eye of Illunia, and with an upturned lip said, “We’re fine for now, we must speak to whoever is in charge of your armed forces. A—” he paused, thinking over his choice of words, “—dwarven stronghold has fallen. The enemies are mustering an army and plan to use this area as a staging ground for an assault on the south.”

“Whoa, heavy,” came Trish’s remark from the well. “Maybe I don’t want to travel with you, Theral.”

Daulf ignored her. He flagged down a townsperson and tasked them with gathering clothes for these newcomers. He turned to the dwarves. “Step in here, the other leaders of this town are on their way back. Rest and wait.”

The dwarves walked into the tent under Daulf’s direction, and I remained outside with Trish, watching Roland defend the well. He did not shoot often, but when he did, squeals of pain punctuated his shots. When Tobren returned with chains and a lock, I assisted in securing the grate that topped the well.

By the time we had finished, Mobear was there with a squad of soldiers bearing spears. “These men will guard this well. I have sent similar groups to the other wells in town.”

Tobren nodded and added, “I sent my sons to those as well with more chains. Let's go see what our most recent guests have to say.”

The situation now in hand, Roland hopped down from his perch and the “bigwigs” filed back into the tent. Inside there were dwarves raiding a table laden with light refreshments, as if they hadn’t eaten in days. Which, judging by their appearance, was probably true.

“Tell them what you told me,” Daulf prodded them.

They straightened as we entered. They now wore ill-fitting clothing donated from local men. Their broad shoulders necessitated shirts that hung to the ground like a kirtle. The ridiculous sight contrasted with the authority with which the short haired dwarf spoke. “I am Kenra Ludvik—General Ludvik,” he clarified the title, “I was in command of a fortress in the northern mountains that has fallen to the forces of the Forsaken. This here is Deshiv, he is a Blessed of Torc. I don’t know how, but the Forsaken breached the front lines we held against them. We thought we were prepared”—he paused, emotion warring on his face. He continued, staring off into space, after regaining his composure— “We were not. They surprised us, bypassed our defenses. We didn’t stand a chance.”

We all listened, respectful and silent—even Trish—as he recounted the invasion. The events he described were much the same as those Dagmar recounted. Both attacks took place on the tenth and came from the tunnels that connect the fortresses. The enemy had sent a small group to take over a supply caravan that was heading into the fortress. Duergar are masters of illusion, and after capturing the caravan, they’d disguised themselves as the crew. At the fortress, the crew was ushered into the base after passing the security checks. Once inside, they turned on the dwarves. Chaos broke out, and an army of Fallen orcs burst from the supply cars. While battle raged in the cargo depot, an elite squad of powerful individuals pushed through the security lines of the fortress, slew the leader of the outpost, and triggered the fortress’ defenses. The defenses cleared out any resistance left in the fortress.

Ludvik led a squad of survivors to safety, hoping to rally them and retake their home, but in their escape they discovered that all the nearby fortresses had fallen. They remained nearby, spying on the enemy. More orcs and other Forsaken forces were arriving with each passing hour. They captured one and discovered the fortress was to be the staging post for an invasion of the surface. At the news, Ludvik and his small band of survivors fled into the dark tunnels of the Torack, seeking a route to warn the surface. They ran for over a week, dodging the patrols of Forsaken and their foul minions that now swarmed the territory of the dwarves. Each night saw their numbers dwindle. He did not describe the passage, but I can imagine the terror of a goblin infested cave well enough. When they saw the light of the wells of Edgewater, Ludvik and Deshiv were all that remained.

When the tale was done, Ludvik pleaded, “You must send word to Landing, to Lakeside. You must gather an army. Muster your defenses. Faust’s forces are preparing to wage war on the surface.”

Mobear and Daulf looked at each other uneasily. Mobear spoke, “I am a captain in the Landing army. The city has fallen to a white dragon. I have nearly one hundred and fifty men, more trickle in each day, but I fear this is the only force you will find.”

“Damn it to Fauell!” Ludvik threw his cup at the tent wall, where it hit with an unsatisfying foof. “Then we must prepare a defense here. Build walls, prepare traps, arm the people and hope you can delay until help arrives.”

Ludvik switched from despair to command and started giving orders, seemingly oblivious to his lack of authority—or pants. “Send riders to Lakeside, and others to gather more of your soldiers from Landing. You can send word to the shipclans, the elves, anyone. You do not understand the stakes of what is to come.”

Mobear looked to Daulf, who gave a small nod. “Alright, I believe you. Let's get to work. Tobren, what resources can you bring to bear? Can we evacuate anyone unable to fight to Lakeside?”

The meeting broke up into smaller groups—Tobren sending for children to act as runners, and Mobear tasking his men to organize the building of fortifications. Amidst the chaos, Bearskin’s voice broke through the planning. “What about your defenses?”

His voice brought the work to a halt, as all turned to see him. “How did they clear out your fortress?” he clarified.

Ludvik, acknowledging the giant for the first time, explained reluctantly, “The fortress controlled the river. When invaded, we were able to flood chambers that had been lost to the enemy. They reached our control room and turned our defenses against us. They stopped the river as well, which was surely the prime motivation behind the attack.”

Bearskin listened and thought over his words before speaking, “Why don’t we do the same? Sneak in, restart river, destroy enemy.”

Ludvik looked at Bearskin in frustration, “We can’t,” he said reflexively. “We can’t because”—he paused, thinking over the idea. I could almost see the wheels turning in his head as he thought it over. “We would need a small elite force that could get there and sneak in. The army will be marching any moment—could be marching now. You’d need to sneak in, activate the defenses, and likely fight your way out.”

“Okay, I do it.” Bearskin said, as if Ludvik hadn’t just described some impossible task.

“I’m in as well,” Roland chimed in from where he was reviewing maps with one of Mobear’s scouts.

“Me too, it seems like our best hope,” Daulf volunteered. “Mobear, you must stay here and man the defenses. We will attempt this. If we fail, maybe we will buy you some time. I will write notes that will help muster Tower defenses, if you can find representatives to give them to. But, I fear we do not have the time to wait.”

Turning to Ludvik and Deshiv he asked, “You are in no condition to accompany us. Tell us what we need to know to get in and activate these defenses.”

Deshiv, silent up until now, rummaged through the maps on the table until he found the right one and marked the location of a secret entrance.

“I need gems.” he demanded.

When no one jumped to move, he elaborated, “I can imbue the gems so that the wards let you through the secret entrance. I need two, one for the door, and one for the defense panels.

Trish drew two rings set with precious stones from one of her many hidden pockets. “Will these work?”

“Perfectly, thank you. They will not be harmed. This will only last”—he paused to inspect each gemstone—”twelve hours or so. It’s best we wait until you are about to leave.”

The frantic planning split. One group led by Mobear continued the work of preparing a defense in the event of our defeat. The other led by Daulf prepared for an expedition. All the horses that could be spared were gathered. The search discovered ten. Aside from Daulf’s charger, few were of high quality. To make the trip in eight hours, each person of the team would require two horses, and they would need to be switched frequently. Daulf graciously lent his charger to Bearskin, who had been staring in awe at the horses since they started to gather outside the tent.

“So big! Like giant deer! Wonderful!” he petted each horse, a childlike glee in his eyes.

Where was this guy from?

While Daulf gave instructions to Bearskin on the rudimentary points of riding, Roland went over the plan, “We will ride down the road to the village of Forest Haven, set far to the north. The village is an hour’s hike from the origin of the river, but it's also a regular day’s ride from here, so we must make haste if we are to get there in time to use this key.”

Men gathered packs of supplies at Tobren’s direction. I picked one up, set it on my shoulder, and mounted the nearest horse.

Wow, Daulf was right that day after I was beaten by Twiggy. Not one person asked me to go on that expedition. I think I stole that pack from one of Mobear’s men who was going to go.

Trish watched me grab a pack, stole one from the grasp of another of Mobear’s men, and mounted the horse next to mine. “I can’t believe we are doing this,” she grumbled to herself.

Bearskin mounted Daulf’s horse and I half expected it to collapse under his bulk. The warhorse looked like a pony beneath the giant man. The horse sensed Bearskin’s inexperience and was stomping the ground uncertainly, despite Daulf’s attempts to reassure it. It looked like Bearskin would have to remain behind until Roland went to Daulf’s horse and whispered something into its ear. At the words, the tension melted away from the horse, and it followed Roland wherever he went—no matter what Bearskin did to direct it.

The last thing to do before departing was for Deshiv to imbue the gemstones. He held each in his hand for a moment before handing them back to Trish. “The emerald is for the door, the ruby is for the controls.”

She inspected them, looking for some change, but then they disappeared once more into her clothing.

Bearskin, Daulf, Roland, Trish, and I set off down the road to Forest Haven. We rode without incident, stopping regularly to switch horses. Whenever Daulf's charger started to flag, we slowed and Bearskin ran beside us. Each time, Roland would ride beside it with his hand on its back, and the horse regained some of its vigor.

Six long hours of riding brought us to the village. The smoke from its fires rose above the trees, giving away its location. We planned to warn the town to flee and continue on, but something felt off when we entered the center of the small village.

The village consisted of two dozen modest homes with a central longhouse. Like many small towns near the mountains, the longhouse was constructed from the ship that brought its founders to the continent. The settlers had dismantled this ship and used it for material, unlike some who simply flipped it over and called it a day.

Our arrival interrupted a gathering in the center of the town. Roland tensed as a group of villagers approached. "Let me handle this," he whispered.

"Greetings travelers, how can we help you?" asked the leader of the approaching trio.

The three men looked skinny and pale. Not what one would expect from villagers in a verdant forest such as this.

"We found this horse"—Roland gestured to one of the spares—"roaming on our hunt. Does she belong here?"

Greed visible in his eyes, the spokesmen answered, "Oh yes, she is ours. That's wonderful, thank you. So noble to have brought her back." As if an afterthought he added, "Can we interest you in lodging? It's the least we can do for some as noble as you."

"No, but thank you kindly for the offer. We were just returning to our camp a mile or so south down the road. Enjoy your gathering."

After relinquishing the horse, Roland led us away from the town at a canter. Once out of sight he said, "Be on guard. Whoever those people were, they killed the inhabitants of that village. A messenger ran off to the north. Set the horses loose to the south and follow my trail."

He leaped from his horse and ran into the woods without waiting for our response. I watched from my horse as he ran into the forest. He moved with a supernatural speed and silence, the trees seemed to part from him as we ran. We dismounted and removed what we needed from the horses, then shooed them on back towards town. I consoled myself with the thought that if we failed, they would be okay. Even the Forsaken value horses.

Bearskin took point and had little trouble following Roland's trail. Even I could have done it. The plants that parted for his passage stayed parted, creating a clear path through the forest. Looking behind, I watched the branches slowly relax in our wake.

It took twenty minutes for us to catch up to Roland. A young man from the village sat gagged and tied to a tree and Roland sat casually whittling to the side. When we arrived he brought us up to speed, fury behind every word. “They took the village on the tenth. Dragon cultists. They were acting as a depot for gathering supplies. There's a shipment of weapons and other goods heading to the fortress and this one here was sent to warn them of us. We have no time to waste.”

“What will we do about—” I began to ask as Roland cut his throat with a quick slash. The man's corpse hung limply where he’d been tied.

“They killed the whole village. Let's go,” he said before leading us through the woods once more.

The branches parted before us as we traveled, making our passage quiet and fast. Only Bearskin was too large for the trail, but he paid no heed to the stings of branches on his bare skin.

Half an hour into our trek, Roland held up his hand, gesturing for a stop and silence. He left us, disappearing into the trees. A minute later, his voice came from behind us, “I found the caravan. Three wagons. No guards. Follow me, prepare to attack.”

He led us north, and after a short distance I saw the road through the trees. The road was freshly cut and hardly wide enough for the carts it’d been built for.

We had passed the caravan, and it could be seen advancing towards us on the uneven, stump ridden path. Daulf gestured at Roland with his hand and muttered a prayer. “A protection, you will be immune to their magic.”

“Thank ye. I will handle this.” Roland said, his voice calm, belying the rage visible on his face.

Roland stepped out of the forest, bow drawn. Without warning or challenge, he unleashed arrow after arrow at the wagon's drivers. Each shot struck true, taking a cultist in the heart. Three died before the rest realized what was happening, and they began to return fire with their magic. Three Firebolts shot at Roland simultaneously. They hit in a big explosion that parted around him. I could feel the heat from the burst twenty feet away. To Roland’s credit, he didn't even flinch and resumed his shots as soon as the fire cleared.

The brief battle over, we all broke from the woods and gathered around the carts. The beds were loaded with a wide variety of weapons: swords, bows, axes, daggers, and clubs. No more than two were alike, these were the product of a disparate effort, not a wholesale order. My eyes lingered on the dead. So cheap are the lives of sorcerers. I do not deny they deserved it, but if they hadn’t, would this exchange have gone any differently?

Daulf saw me eyeing the dead and, as if reading my mind, gently spoke, “These were cruel men. Murderers arming a force of the Forsaken. Spare no pity for their deaths, only for the lives they led that brought them to accept this foul power.”

That sort of made me feel better, but not for the reason he meant. I hadn’t done anything for my power. Would that make a difference?

Roland retrieved his arrows from the dead. Six in total for six kills. Bearskin unceremoniously threw the cultists’ bodies into the forest; He looked upset as he did so. “This fight was not fair. But I do not think they fought fair in the village.”

We cleared one cart of its wares and Bearskin lay under the tarp covering it. Daulf took off his pauldrons emblazoned with Illunia’s eye and hid them with Bearskin. For the rest of the carts, we did what we could to make the shipment less valuable. We took all the bow strings and arrows and threw them into the forest. Anymore, and we risked tipping our hand, but in the event of our failure, anything we did could save lives.

I rode in front with Trish. She would do the talking, and I could possibly reinforce her claims with a show of magic. Daulf drove the cart with Bearskin in the middle, and Roland brought up the rear. The road went another mile before turning to the west and coming out of the forest at the dry river bed. We traveled along the river for another hour and by my count we had two hours left before our gemstones lost their “imbueing.” Imbuement? I spent a portion of the ride thinking of the proper word.

After an hour, a wooden palisade could be seen up ahead with a mountain face right behind it. The smoke of a hundred fires rose behind it. The riverbed itself was not walled, but the force occupying the fortress had constructed a twenty-foot wall of logs across each bank. There were two Fallen orc guards straddling an opening in the wall. The orcs were accompanied by an ogre, who stood blocking the entry. The blood-red color of the orcs’ skin stood out amidst the green of the forest surroundings. The ogre stood dumbly watching the clouds, I’d say lost in thought, but that would be giving ogres too much credit.

As we approached the checkpoint, Trish whispered, “Don’t say anything.”

I hadn’t planned to.

“What's this?” the guard asked, speaking the language of the Forsaken. It was hard to read his intent, the language made everyone seem angry and suspicious.

Fluently, Trish replied, “We have the weapon shipment. Where does it go?” Her posture had changed to mimic those of the cultists who greeted us outside Forest Haven. She hunched over the reins casting her eyes around suspiciously, and never made eye contact with the orc for long.

He looked at her with suspicion of his own, “I haven’t seen you before, but you pale skinned all look the same. What is it this time?”

Effecting subservient pleading, she answered,“More weapons, some food. None of it’s very good. I’m sorry. It’s the best we could do.”

The orc looked us over, suspicion clear in his eyes. I had no trouble emulating the meek subservience of a cultist in over his head. The orc suspected something was off, and Trish could sense it too. He walked behind us and looked through our cart. “Where are all the bow strings!” he demanded.

“I told you, this is the best we could do. We couldn’t exactly place an order with a bowyer at Landing,” she accompanied the last part with a manic laugh.

The orc laughed at her joke, the sound reminiscent of a boar. “Hoh ho! No you cannot. Alright. Go on in, and drop these off by the supply tent. Then stick with your kind. Don’t mingle. We are mobilizing within the hour.”

Our carts rolled through the gate unmolested. The ogre hardly noticed us when we squeezed by it, barely moving to let us through. From the high bank we could see the enemy army arrayed before us. The camp was set up in the dry lake bed formed from the water rushing out of the cave. The enemy's army was spread out in the mud. Calling it a camp was generous. There were no tents, just fires, and piles of suppliers with Fallen orcs, grey orcs, dark elves, duergar, redcaps, and human cultists mingling about. The last group was isolated in a smaller corner.

Near the mountain and above the riverbed rested the only tent. A massive tent that made Mobear’s command tent look like a sheet spread over a line. The fabric was a deep red, and outside it stood two more Fallen orc guards, these decked out fully in black enameled plate armor. They looked like demons of myth with their red skin and black armor.

The cliff face on the opposite side of the river from the tent was split by an unnatural opening. A ten feet high and wide square gate was open, and small lizard-like creatures could be seen darting about inside. Deshiv had mentioned the fortress had a front door that could be opened if we could not make it to the secret entrance, but this didn’t seem to be an option.

We followed the cart tracks in the dirt, which brought us between the tent and the mountain, and led us down a ramp into the dry lake bed. Out of sight from the camp, hidden by the tent, Trish stopped the lead cart and turned to the group. “Now what?”